


My Only One

by Captain_Loki



Series: Best Friend [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Softie Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-11-03 20:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: The missing scene fromYou're Making Me Liveas requested  wherein Aziraphale brings up Crowley's praise kink. Some smut sprinkled throughout, peppered on in there between Crowley blushing and Aziraphale doting.





	My Only One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crowgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/gifts).

Aziraphale notices it right away, or at least the effect it has on Crowley, whether Aziraphale is able to put a name to It or not.

It happens repeatedly, not necessarily when they’re making love; even an innocent compliment has a very profound, and noticeable effect on Crowley.

He thinks back to all the times throughout their history, of the Ritz and Crowley’s soft smile when Aziraphale told him he was a good person. It’s the first time he’s ever responded in such a way and it makes Aziraphale’s heart grow lighter, a feeling that never left.

The first time he and Crowley become _intimate _it becomes a natural mantra. Aziraphale pets Crowley’s hair, locks soft and thick as Crowley moves between his legs and takes him into his mouth. 

“Oh--you’re so _good _Crowley. You are perfect, _beautiful_,” Aziraphale can hardly help showering Crowley in affection. “You’re so good for me, Crowley, so _good.” _Crowley whimpers, his throat fluttering around Aziraphale and his eyes open gazing up at the angel.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale tells him, breathless, his hips writhing in soft motions as Crowley sucks him all the way down. 

“I’m going to orgasm soon,” Aziraphale warns him.

Crowley makes another desperate noise, fingers digging into the soft flesh of Aziraphale’s naked thighs and Aziraphale, true to his word, comes, hard, cock twitching against Crowley’s tongue. Crowley feels Aziraphale’s release sliding down the back of his throat.

Aziraphale wasn’t particularly sure how to broach the subject of sweet talking your lover to orgasm. So, naturally he turns to Madame Tracey, who was more than delighted to host the angel for tea and a long discussion on the more salacious side of the pleasures of the body.

Aziraphale tries to be discreet of course, but he quite ruins it when Madame Tracey tells Aziraphale that what he’s describing is a _praise _kink, and Aziraphale sighs, “oh, _Crowley_,” with a deep affection.

“Oh, I did wonder if this was about that gentleman friend of yours,” Madame Tracey says. Aziraphale flushes and tries to backtrack but she gives him a look and he falls silent.

“He can be so sensitive about these kinds of things, but he does so love to hear them.” Aziraphale twists his hands in front of him, “this seemed like such a good solution.”

When Aziraphale finally does see the pattern he indulges in it, of course. Casually, at first, afraid to push his luck, and besides that he feels its skirting territory that must be met with consent, otherwise it somehow felt _dishonest_.

He finds himself running his hands through Crowley’s hair a lot more often, marveling at the way Crowley nuzzles into the touch or how his eyes slip shut and an air of serenity seems to ease the sharp angles of him.

“You have such lovely hair, Crowley,” Aziraphale tells him. It’s safer territory, he knows Crowley prides himself on his appearance. “Though I must admit I do sometimes miss when it was long.”

“Yeah?” Crowley asks, tilting his head back to look up at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale smiles at him. “It is rather fetching this way,” Aziraphale reassures him. 

“I could--grow it out,” Crowley says, voice soft.

“I like whatever you like best, love,” Aziraphale tells him, and he leans down to press a kiss to Crowley’s forehead. Aziraphale can feel the wave of affection like a tangible thing, radiating off Crowley. It makes Aziraphale’s skin tingle.

It makes for a memorable night when Crowley surprises Aziraphale, having grown it out for the occasion. It’s shoulder length and pulled back into a messy bun.

“What about this?” Crowley asks, “Or do you like it _loonger_?” He makes the question sound lewd.

“I-uh--” Aziraphale feels his face heat, and a word that sounds like “Mesopotamia,” is what Aziraphale manages to say.

Crowley raises an eyebrow and grins. He reaches back and with a shake of his head his hair cascades in fiery waves and curls. It’s a look Aziraphale remembers well.

Crowley steps closer to him, circles him with interest. “Were you attracted to me, then, Aziraphale?” He leans in.

Aziraphale clears his throat. “I’m not sure you could call it that, as it were,” he says, “but, yes, I did find you rather...alluring,” Aziraphale admits. 

“I am a temptation demon, after all,” Crowley says.

“Were you tempting me?” Aziraphale asks. 

“No,” Crowley says and for all his talk his face turns a soft shade of pink and he glances away with an open expression of happiness.

And then Crowley rides Aziraphale in the back room of the bookshop, his lithe serpentine body undulating in his lap as he fucks himself on Aziraphale’s cock. Aziraphale has a fist full of Crowley’s hair, tugging just enough to elicit a hiss of pleasure from him as he grinds down hard.

It’s a beautiful contrast to the way he practically purrs when Aziraphale pants into his ear words of adoration, of reverence for him. Crowley climaxes messily between them when Aziraphale slips his tongue into his ear and tells him he feels _divine_.

One of them manages to miracle them to the bed above the shop. In the afterglow Aziraphale spends long drawn out minutes combing his fingers through Crowley’s hair, dragging short nails across his scalp. A shiver goes up Crowley’s spine and he whimpers into the pillow. Aziraphale lives out a particular fantasy, a much more benign one, and he braids Crowley’s hair neatly.

“You _would _have an innocently sensual fetish, angel,” Crowley mumbles, placid and content.

“You’re one to talk, my dear, with that praise kink of yours.”

Crowley immediately goes rigid and Aziraphale winces inwardly as Crowley rolls over. “My what?!” Crowley shouts, his hair falling out of the braid Aziraphale was nearly finished with.

“My dear, does that honestly come as a shock to you?” Aziraphale asks a little placidly.

“Wh-kgh-nnwh--what shocks me is that you just used the word _kink_ at all, Aziraphale,” Crowley balks.

“I live in Soho, Crowley,” Aziraphale reminds him. When Crowley just continues to stare Aziraphale smirks, “besides I had a chat with Madame Tracey about the whole situation.”

“You fucking had what _now_?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale doesn’t meet his eyes, instead stares at the ceiling, laying prone on his back, hands folded atop his chest. “Well, I didn’t want to type ‘my boyfriend busts a nut when I say nice things to him’ into google,” Aziraphale huffs.

“_bust a n_\--_Boyfrien--_” Crowley is having a hard time latching on to any one part of that, and when Aziraphale looks at him now Crowley is redder than he’s ever seen him and Aziraphale tries not to laugh. He can’t temper the smirk though, and Crowley flashes him a dangerous look.

Or, rather one that Aziraphale knows is _meant _to be dangerous, like a serpent just before it strikes. But his hair is a mess and there are dark hickies already blossoming on his neck and chest and his golden slit eyes look heavier with sleep than heat. Aziraphale leans over and brushes their lips together and says, “boyfriend, lover, partner..._soulmate_, my beautiful, _kind, perfect_ Demon Crowley.”

“_Uuugh,_” Crowley complains, allowing Aziraphale to pull him into a tight embrace, going liquid in Aziraphale’s arms.

_“My Everything_, thank you for waiting for me to catch up,” Aziraphale tells him, voice heavy with the kind of sincerity that blankets itself over Crowley like the warm protective drape of wings. “And as long as you’ll let me, I plan to spend every moment here on returning the favor.”

“_Fuck_, angel,” Crowley whimpers and he pulls back, eyes fluttering closed.

“Are you hard?” Aziraphale teases.

“I hate you,” Crowley tells him, ardently, but he’s nuzzling into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, his arms flung around him. 

“I mean every word, Crowley, know that,” Aziraphale tells him. Crowley opens his eyes and smiles at him, soft and full of affection.

“I know, Aziraphale. That’s kind of the whole point of it..you know,” Crowley says making an explosion gesture, “that and you always look good enough to eat.”

“Right,” Aziraphale flushes.

“Which I could if you want,” Crowley offers, raising an eyebrow, pulling his hair back as he ducks beneath the covers to slither down Aziraphale’s body. 

“What exactly do you mean by--Oh. Exactly what you would expect, I see.”

“This okay?” Crowley pops his head back up out from the covers, blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. 

Aziraphale answers by twisting his hand in Crowley’s hair and shoving him back down. “Have me however you want, Crowley,” Aziraphale tells him. 

“_Fuck_, angel,” the muffled voice sounds from the lump wriggling over Aziraphale, his grin is toothy and mischievous and every bit the bastard that Crowley loves him for.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://captain-snark.tumblr.com) or not


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